


They Will Never Dance Alone

by Leximuth



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: M/M, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Plug and Play Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:58:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leximuth/pseuds/Leximuth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no plot. There is only Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, too much free time, and Optimus alone in a hangar. Also mind-melding. Also Megatron and Optimus being young and sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Will Never Dance Alone

They roar into the hangar without any subtlety, silver plating flashing burnished gold in the setting sunlight. Optimus smiles a little watching them - they're in fine form, tires shrieking in circles as they try to tag each other. The hangar is empty, equipment shut down for the night; there's no harm in their game.

He notices they're flanking him the moment it is too late to step out of their way.

"See something you like?" Sideswipe quips, snapping upright with a showy twist. Sunstreaker's engine sings as they circle.

"You are both quite beautiful," Optimus agrees easily enough. He lets them pace around him, lets his energy field resonate deep and calming. They work themselves up too easily and know no other way to release it than violence. Their own energies ease in response to his but their attention never wavers.

"You know, English is such a tricky language," Sideswipe says thoughtfully behind him, "I'm never quite sure if a modifier like 'quite' makes something more or less of whatever it is. You know what I mean?" Sunstreaker's engine roars briefly, quieting to a low thunder. "Exactly. So diplomatic, our Prime - weighs his words ever so carefully. One might almost think he's trying to avoid a straight answer. For shame. Too much time spent on human politics."

Optimus chuckles, letting his hands open loose and unthreatening as Sideswipe glides before him again. "I would agree with that assessment, Sideswipe, but for the fact that I was born to politics. Straight answers are the end of any politician - here or on Cybertron."

Sideswipe swings around, comes to a halt in front of him. "Well then, _Prime_ , we are 'quite beautiful,'" he purrs, fingers clenching in a rhythm matching the thrum of their meshing fields. His gaze is piercingly sharp. "So, Optimus, I ask again - see something you like?"

He cannot afford to hesitate before these two. "Yes," he says simply, because it is true.

Sunstreaker is on him in the next instant, hands wrapping around whatever back-struts he can reach. "Down," he commands. Optimus kneels heavily, if only for the relief of not having to be careful for once. There are no delicate humans here to unwittingly crush. Sideswipe's hands touch his face, cover his mouth like a battlemask.

"Tell us," Sunstreaker demands, and Optimus knows what he wants. What he needs. Sideswipe's fingers don't move, cold blue stare a challenge. Optimus shifts his mouth, presses back against him in something like a human kiss. Sunstreaker's hands are hot against his plating, shivering with expectation.

"You are beautiful," Optimus whispers into Sideswipe's hand. "Your sparks sing of battle. You complement each other in every motion. There are none that can equal you, singly or together."

Sunstreaker shudders, pressing close against his back. Their plating catches, twinges, their sparks close enough to stutter in a futile attempt at synchronization. "More," Sunstreaker hisses.

Optimus cups a hand against Sideswipe's back, presses him close, closer, until silver hands fall away and reach past Optimus for his brother. "I know you as well as any other mech may," Optimus murmurs into Sideswipe's throat. "I know you are the most dangerous of any Autobot; I know you would give your life for them; I know you will do what I ask of you, be it to kill or stay your hand or live just a little longer-"

Sunstreaker's hand covers his mouth this time, gripping so tightly their plating squeals. They are pressed against Optimus tighter than should be possible, tightly enough that it hurts, joints deep inside wailing of compression. He bears it without sound - could make little more than an undignified squeal of feedback if he even tried. Their shared frequency beats at his spark. Their energy fields flutter against his, urging him higher, tighter, shocking him with every brushing touch.

"Look so good on your knees," Sideswipe whispers. "So good for us."

"We give you what you ask," Sunstreaker says roughly, forcing Optimus' helm back against the curve of his shoulder. His grip eases, trails fingertips along the complex hinges of Optimus' face. "But we don't even have to ask you. It's already ours, isn't it? Whatever we want."

"Whatever you need," Optimus says softly. They shiver against him.

"Give us everything," Sideswipe growls. His voice is as dangerous as his brother's; his hands search Optimus' plating restlessly.

He doesn't hesitate; he doesn't have the luxury of pretending he wants to. "Yes," Optimus acquiesces, and he opens to them.

They press against him, into him, wanting to know all that he knows, wanting all that he feels, wanting everything that he is. There is enough energy crackling between them that manipulating the delicate cables with only their fields is easy enough; their cables meet midair, connectors coupling as easily as if the three of them had done this a hundred thousand times.

The burst of their consciousnesses in his is sublime. They press deep into him, greedy for pleasure, pushing past immediate recollections and weariness in search of something better. They shed their own memories as they go, deep-indigo bursts of loneliness and vicious play. One of the three of them grows impatient, jumps deeper, drags the others with him. They remember Ironhide's reverent touch after Tyger Pax; they remember whispering obscene flirtations as they raced helix spirals around a mech so long dead his name is lost to them. Somewhere, one of them keens his pleasure. Perhaps all three of them. They are lost in each other.

And then, oh then, they reach back, farther, deeper, memories from before their twin-birth, before Optimus called for war against his own brother. He is aware, suddenly and painfully, of their minds foreign inside him; they are intruding, they know not what they grasp. They hesitate at his sudden alienation. One of them (even he cannot tell them apart now, they are two aspects of a whole, united in this as they cannot in body) reaches for him, mirroring a hesitant touch against his mind with an equally hesitant touch on his faceplates. The other snarls defiance - but now Optimus can hear the concern behind it, the worry that if they leave it at this there will be nothing but painful memories left to them. They want to be good, want to feel good - they want -

He joins their wanting, lets himself fall back into them, opens to them once more. Their gratitude and relief is his own. The three of them jump deeper.

They plunge to a time of Megatron, only Megatron, always Megatron.

His great claws touch them gently, terribly, caress places that have only known his silver touch. They arch as one into the fierce pleasure of it, into the recollection of ecstasy. Wholeness. Megatron's spark is searing; Optimus resists only to tease him, to please him with the inevitability of winning. The part of Optimus that is Sideswipe whispers a laugh, familiar beyond words with this game - the part that is Sunstreaker tugs their attention back to Megatron's touches, the gentle taps against spark-armor, the snaking cables that tease out Optimus' own.

They shiver under the assault, and assault it is - Megatron can do no less. But Optimus was born a leader. Submission can be only a facade. He primes his trap, lies in wait, and tumbles Megatron's greater mass to the ground just as it seemed their cables would connect. Megatron's laugh is warm burnished gold. Optimus is not cruel; they connect a moment later anyhow, youthful impatience winning over both of them. Pleasure arcs through Optimus, hot electricity through his wiring. It feels like the time Sunstreaker surprised him on the overlook, the sun rising red and gold over his shoulder; it feels like the time Sideswipe polished his every inch, inside and out; it feels like a hundred other times he'd lain with Megatron, like nothing ever since. He murmurs agreement with himself: it feels like all of that. It feels like now, like this joining, these three minds seaming into one, these three sets of thoughts and memories crushing against each other, this thing so much like wholeness where there has been only empty longing for completion.

He focuses his eyes, sees through three pairs. He moves three hands with a single intention. He is three bodies but one mind, and it thinks, _"This cannot be sustained."_

He reboots.

He awakens singular but not alone; Sideswipe and Sunstreaker still lean against him, their systems running hot.

"We've never stayed merged that long before," Sideswipe says. Optimus is not quite ready to speak, not quite prepared to deal with the longing in Sideswipe's voice. He rests a broad hand on the back of Sideswipe's helm, draws him closer. Sunstreaker snakes an arm between them, claws scritching gently in the hollow beneath Optimus' windshield. Tiny blue sparks dance along his fingers, energy still dissipating. Optimus shivers. He is content where he is: his knees will not grow sore, his joints will not stiffen. There is comfort in their nearness. His spark aches with memories long buried out of necessity, but it is good to remember. There is a strange, quiet joy in recalling what Megatron had once been. There is contentment in feeling something much like the union of their own twinned sparks.

He realizes his thoughts have wandered when Sunstreaker's mind brushes hesitant against his own - they have not uncoupled, connections swinging heavy between them. Optimus is not ready for more intimacy but he opens anyhow. If something is needed of him, he will give it.

The touch of Sunstreaker's mind is only a little like Megatron's, in that they were both made for battle. He is gentle now, feathering through Optimus' thoughts with faint whispers of love and respect. No adulation, no worship, not from these two - and with that thought Sunstreaker finds what he sought.

_"More,"_ he whispers, _"Tell us more about us. Tell us you are not afraid. Tell us we are needed."_

Optimus' joy is boundless. This, he can give them. He shows them his faith in their abilities, in their loyalty; he shows them his awe at their flashing blades; he shows them his own joy when they met once more on Earth, two halves of a whole once more combined; he shows them their own beauty, their deadliness, inextricably twined together. He shows them his understanding. He shows them his love.

Their hydraulics release their tension in a deep sigh, letting him bear their weight. He does it gladly. They rest against him, a helm on each shoulder, one in front and one in back. They are quiet but for the hum of their systems. Slowly, gently, they unhook from each other, cables spooling back, minds separating with parting caresses.

"Stay with us tonight," Sideswipe says softly.

"Yes," Optimus acquiesces - because they are his Autobots, because he loves them as he loves all of Primus' creatures, because they need him.

The sun has set. The last touches of gold fade into the ocean. Optimus aches for his twin-spark, but there is peace here between the brothers.


End file.
